I dreamed of a dying old man and an expectant goddess. Both had just been released from a long stay in prison. Another man -- the warden, perhaps; perhaps a parole officer -- was talking to them about what would happen now. They had been given a small, barren plot of land, a very small hill of real estate, nothing on it other than sparse clumps of grass.
I may as well just dig a grave and get in it, the old man said.
You can dig a hole, fill it with water, and drown yourself, the other man said.
The old man was in pain. So was the goddess. The old man was ill. The goddess seemed to be in labor.
Suddenly, she produced a mound of perfectly round, iridescent stones.
What the hell is that? the old man said. .
Kidney stones? the other man answered.
The goddess relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. She observed the wondrous mound of jewels on her lap.
Perhaps we have all been in prison for a time. We have struggled, suffered, desired, despaired. Now we are free -- and what is left? A burial plot or precious new life?
I may as well just dig a grave and get in it, the old man said.
You can dig a hole, fill it with water, and drown yourself, the other man said.
The old man was in pain. So was the goddess. The old man was ill. The goddess seemed to be in labor.
Suddenly, she produced a mound of perfectly round, iridescent stones.
What the hell is that? the old man said. .
Kidney stones? the other man answered.
The goddess relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief. She observed the wondrous mound of jewels on her lap.
Perhaps we have all been in prison for a time. We have struggled, suffered, desired, despaired. Now we are free -- and what is left? A burial plot or precious new life?
No comments:
Post a Comment